What are you fighting, and
why am I trying? You’re
not always right; I’m
not always wrong. You
say that you love me, and
say that you want me, scream,
throwing America
to its knees. You
stab me in stages. We
burn for fortune; hang
upside-down like
angels, crucified.
Crucified.

And I can’t save us now.
I’ve given you all
this world would allow.

My pockets are empty, my
boots worn and frayed,
from collecting the debts that
you’ve never paid.

What are you fighting? What
are you denying? Your
words are familiar, yet
never the same. You’re
wrapped in your baggage,
all broken and tattered. You
say I’m not perfect;
well, neither are you. I’ll
follow my faith while
burning for fortune, hang
upside-down, an angel,
crucified.